


The Bunny or the Egg

by DragonWarden



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Gen, bro moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3551828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonWarden/pseuds/DragonWarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even if the answer to life, the universe, and everything isn't as easy as Douglas Adams made it out to be, at least there's still beer. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bunny or the Egg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wtb (winzler)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wtb+%28winzler%29).



> Two days (and months) late! But belated happy bday!

Sam had barely sunk into his Grid-equivalent of the beanbag with a happy groan before there was a casual, "Head up."

Sam's eyes popped open just in time to see something arcing for his head, and nearly fumbled when he caught the can. He grunted, too tired to search for more grateful sounds, " - supposed to be 'heads up' - " though one-upmanship was always effortless.

"Unless there's something about Users you wish to show me, should it not be singular?" Tron asked, innocently curious. It wasn't until Sam craned his head back far enough to stare incredulously, upside-down, that he finally caught the program's smirk.

"You and Quorra are a menace," Sam grumbled as he slumped back into the gelatinous cushion, wriggling his shoulders to sink even deeper. His legs were steadily kicked up by the displaced material until he was curled into a hollowed bowl, heels hanging just over the edge, Grid-beer cradled possessively in his middle. "Swear I'm gonna code up a net-nanny. Bad enough she's a born troller, don't need you picking up the same habits too … "

The _pop_ and _fizz_ as he pulled the tab was _just_ _right_. Sam felt himself unwind even further as whatever vestigial caveman still lurking in his digitized hindbrain pinged - _time-off home relax no-worries_ \- at the sound.

It had taken Sam thirty-six trials before he managed to replicate it perfectly. He damn well deserved this moment after that mess with the new patch integration.

"No need to concern yourself, Sam; we did not share any classes," Tron said over a duplicate _pop-fizz_ nearby.

Sam squirmed and stretched and rubber-necked just enough to peer over the cushion's bulbous rim, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Don't try your Force-suggestions on this particular User; I'm on to you. You never pull out the words 'variables' and 'functions' and 'class-whyfores' unless you're pulling my leg. While kicking the other one out from under me."

The program had opted for one of the nouveau-minimalist armchair pieces - all it consisted of was three horizontal planes and a slanted backrest, disconnected and floating - slouching down with long legs stretched out before him. "I hardly need to distract you to pull your leg. Or kick it."

Sam rolled his eyes so hard he sank back out of direct line of sight. "Yeah, yeah, gang up on the poor User who can _wizard you into a pink bunnysuit._ Did you ever think of that? Hell, forget the suit, I could turn you _into_ a bunny - "

Three empty beer cans were rolled off to the side by the time they had wandered past Easter, resurrection, rabbits, and eggs. (Eggs had been even more difficult to explain than resurrection.) Four more were added to the pile by the time they got to chickens, dinosaurs, Dinobots, 2D animation, and Disney. Sam's eyes had closed somewhere around 'evolution', the words a comfortable stream of white-noise drone, and even if he still hadn't gotten the taste of a Pabst Blue Ribbon quite right - attempt #65 now - he'd at least managed to get the pleasantly numb, tingly sensation of a buzz down pat.

Which is, of course, when the nagging itch of something not-quite-right finally decided to sneak out into his forebrain.

"Hey, that patch."

"Yes."

"That patch. That went horribly wrong."

"Yes, Sam."

"When it went wrong … " Sam furrowed his brow as he tried to tease out the right words, flapping a hand to shut up Tron's fondly amused - but mostly amused - sounds of support. "You … you ran right past that - what's her name."

"Splice."

"Yeah, her. She was about to fall and you ran right past her."

"The accumulating errors were rapidly compromising the entire energy hub's integrity, Sam."

"I know, I know! But she was right there - "

"You caught her in time, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but you had no way of knowing - " Sam's eyes popped open as he finally put his finger on the problem that had dogged him all the way back from the hub, surprised that it had taken so long. But the conclusion he was coming to just seemed so … so counter-intuitive to what he knew - what he thought he knew - of the program's character. Core. "You didn't know I would be able to change that boundary condition in time to catch her. And it wouldn't have slowed you down at all to have just - you didn't care about her at all. She could have fallen and it didn't matter to you."

Sam could _feel_ the shift in Tron's expression even before he heard the new caution in the program's words. "Of course it mattered to me. But the hub was - "

"Even if you weren't _Tron_ , she was _right there_ , right next to you, and it wouldn't have taken anyone any time at all to - " Sam flailed weakly for a moment before managing to roll over, hooking one arm and one leg over the beanbag bulge so that he could pin an eye on the solemn looking program. "We had _time_. The hub was going critical but it wasn't gonna blow up in just two winks. What's going on, why'd you let her go? You haven't been replaced by some evil pod-person have you?"

Tron's expression turned perplexed. "Pod-person? What is - "

"Don't distract me, I'm on to you! What've you done with - "

"Sam," Tron sighed, chiding and exasperated, "she would have only derezzed, and then - "

"Only derezzed - !"

"Sam!"

Sam's mouth clacked shut and he met Tron's glower with an equal one before the program's look turned inexplicably _wistful_. "I suppose this is my own fault, but I honestly did not expect to be the one to give you this explanation. I had hoped that Quorra would have said something before now - "

"This isn't turning into some birds and the bees talk, is it?"

Tron's brow knit. "The … chicken?"

Sam muffled his groan against the beanbag. "Never mind, just say it. Why's it okay for you to let that - let Splice - die."

"She wouldn't have 'died', she would have derezzed," Tron corrected, now sounding slightly offended.

"Same difference."

"Not."

Sam snorted before he caught himself, imagining juvenile outbursts rather than logical negations, but Tron continued as if it had actually been open scoffing.

"She would have been derezzed, but she wouldn't have been _lost_. Perhaps missing a few nanos at best, maybe millicycles at worst … you would have seen to that."

"Wait, what? Are you telling me that it's okay to just let her derez, because you think I can just wave my hands and replace her and the worst that'll happen is she'll have a few minutes or days' worth of amnesia?"

Tron huffed, looking put-out and surprisingly human in his frustration. "I am explaining this badly."

"Okay, no, I get it," Sam grunted irritably, swimming his way out of the beanbag's confines to a more upright position, "this is a human versus program thing, I don't have to know the _what_ exactly, but why now? Why _now_ , when you spent all that time angsting over all those derezzed programs while now you just skip on by - "

"Sam, stop."

He stopped. Stubbornness wouldn't let go of the mulish set to his shoulders, but the glance he threw Tron's way was half-apologetic - the program hadn't deserved that last dig.

But instead of meeting a hurt gaze, Sam saw a set determination instead. "Sam Flynn, I suppose you have not had the chance to experience this yet, having rezzed onto the Grid as you did in the midst of … one of its most tumultuous times.

"For a thousand cycles, there were no monitors. And no one for them to report to even if there were. The Grid - this Grid - had not even known any User but for Flynn, and understood the existence of others only by residual signatures buried in the comment blocks of borrowed classes.

"When a program derezzed - " Tron spread his hands, mute for a moment, " - they were gone. There was no restoration. Even if Clu had the privileges, he would not have exercised them - at least, not without following it with a swift rectification. Programs became fearful because it was … it was a death. We died, like the Users. And it was terrifying."

Sam swallowed. Felt an uncomfortable prickling at the ends of his fingertips, as if he had inhaled too much oxygen. It was strange, to suddenly seesaw from the utter alienness of Tron's world to this, to something too human, something Sam had been half-convinced the program had never really understood, even being simultaneously the oldest of all the Grid programs and the one who had walked with Users the longest. It was a blunt reminder that there was nothing Sam should take for granted on the Grid. "So … you're saying you don't feel that way now."

Tron's mouth tipped into a small smile that didn't seem as terribly wan as Sam might have feared. "Did Splice look overly terrified by her near-derezzing experience?"

Now that Tron mentioned it ... "Uhm. Nooooo - ?" Sam drew out, a little unnerved by the realization even as he was reluctant to let go of the point.

"No," Tron confirmed. "And we have you to thank for that."

Sam blinked.

"When the Grid had been stable, when Users were accessible - on the other side of the screen, not even here - we had the confidence that no wrong was permanent. Some minimal data could be lost, yes, in the event of a catastrophic failure, but with the proper backup procedures … nothing could not be fixed. Restored. Returned to a previous, better state."

"Immortality," Sam mumbled.

There was recognition at the term, though no real connection. It was simply another User label, and Tron shrugged. "It was - is - our natural state. We have precisely defined functions. We all have our roles in maintaining the system. It was unnatural, avoiding our suspension, our termination … it was a little bit of Chaos, under all of Clu's order; a chaos that he could never stamp out completely. We were written to serve the User, and only when the User commanded it, not to … linger. To wonder if there would ever be the Call to serve again. To fear that we would not be able to, even if it came." An impatient gesture, as if to wipe a buffer clean, and Tron noted in a stronger, more confident voice, "But that is no longer true. Sam, you should be proud - the Grid is responding to you. There is a growing confidence now, that stability is restored - that terminations are simply a part of the tasks in maintaining a healthy system."

"That … that's messed up, you know that?" Sam inserted lamely into the silence that followed. This was going to take a while to wrap his head around, but … it was strangely reassuring, to see Tron looking so content about it, if not downright _happy._ "You're saying I should feel flattered that folks don't mind dying - _derezzing_ \- now 'cause I've got the Jesus touch?"

Tron deliberately framed a bemused tilt of head and brow. "And this touch has something to do with Easter rabbits?"

Sam screwed up his face, took a deep breath … and let it deflate him back into the beanbag. "I saw what you did there, don't think I didn't, I deserve another beer. C'mon, man-slave, chop chop - we still have to talk about Disney and the thirty years of total disaster that was talks between them and Encom about working on adaptations of some of our games … "


End file.
